


Shi ga Futari wo Wakatsu made

by IDetestTragedy



Series: Peregrination Starts with a Vengeful Mind [2]
Category: View Finder
Genre: Action, Adventure, Anal Sex, Dark, Drama, Gore, Historical, M/M, Massacre, Romance, Smut, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDetestTragedy/pseuds/IDetestTragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title literally means “Until Death Separates the Two People” but often corresponds to the adage: “Until Death Do Us Part.” With vengeance in mind, Akihito followed Asami wherever the swordsman went. When a feudal lord offered his daughter's hand in marriage, what would Asami do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shi ga Futari wo Wakatsu made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eprime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eprime/gifts).



> Credits: Thank you so much to kuiama for beta reading most devotedly, as well as to Swanfrost15 for the fight scene editing and bellieswtpea for additional checking  
> Cultural Notes:  
> The story is set in the beginning of December 1637. 
> 
> Regardless of financial status, the Japanese social class was divided into 4 based on honor in the following descending order: samurai – peasants – merchants – artisans. Feudal lords and priests were considered above these social classes. Marriage partners were usually sought from families with similar social rank. 
> 
> Actually, surnames or myōji were the prerogative of the samurai and the aristocracy; save for a few exceptions, commoners did not bear surnames until the Meiji Restoration. However, I violate this rule for the sake of keeping canon characters’ names intact (otherwise Akihito and Ryūichi couldn’t keep their surnames). 
> 
> The hour of the ox lasts from 2 to 4 a.m. (one hour in the historical Japanese hour is equal to 2 hours in modern time) and is notorious as the special hour for ghosts.
> 
> “Oyakata-sama” is used as both a reference and an address means “honorable lord [head-of-the-] house (or mansion, castle, palace, etc.)” It’s rather tricky to translate since in English there are distinctions for “my lord,” “Your Excellency,” and “His Excellency” (and also for Your/His Grace, Your/His Majesty, etc.)
> 
> “Tono” is translatable as “lord” when used as a reference and “sire” when used as an address to a liege lord. Asami’s use of the word implies his status as one who does not dedicate his sword to any master.
> 
> During the Heian Period (AD 794 – 1185), there were ten basic court ranks, each subdivided into junior and senior grades. Those of the first three ranks carried fans with twenty-five folds. The fourth and fifth ranks carried fans of twenty-three folds. Those of the sixth rank and below were allowed a mere twelve folds in their fans. The number of folds in the fan in this story signifies that its bearer is descended from a powerful aristocratic family no lower than the fifth rank in nobility and, hence, possesses vast influence and numerous allies. 
> 
> A singing bowl is a bowl-shaped bell, played by striking the rim of the bowl with a padded mallet, and is used during Buddhist chanting and rituals, including funerals. In this fic, the instrument becomes the equivalent for requiem bell. 
> 
> Nagajuban is a middle garment worn beneath their main outer garment, which are kimono-shaped robes worn to add collar definition to the kimono, and over another undergarment called hadajuban.
> 
> Tsūwakin is an Edo Period ointment made from the root of totoro-aoi (a type of hibiscus plant) and functions as a lubricant that is popular especially among male prostitutes.

Akihito blinked. The _shojigami_ over the wooden lattice of the sliding door was still imbued with the charcoal color of pre-dawn. The gelidity in such small hours of morning gave him shivers. He curled up and pulled the blanket tighter, only to find another presence inside said blanket. A strong arm.

Akihito's breath hitched. Although he had been accustomed to Asami's presence after four months of their peregrination, they had never slept in the same _futon_ before last night. Their evenings had always been spent curling on the opposite sides of the open fire, under the star-laden sky with the rustling of unquiet foliage as their lullaby and, oft, mosquito bites.

Truly, everything about this castle astounded Akihito. The guestroom, in which Asami and himself were lodged, was moderately small by the castle's standard, yet even such size was roughly four times the entirety of the Takaba hut. Three _tatami_ mats stretched between the futon at the center of the room and the sliding door to the verandah, from which the panoramic view of the town could be reveled from the fourth floor of the six-storied donjon. The center of a vast array of interlocking baileys, the donjon itself was erected on two raised platforms of fan-sloping stone base. Above these mounds flew story upon story of graceful sweeping roofs and white defensive walls. Each successive space was strategically defended by gateways, narrow passages, and walkways that required those who ventured inside to turn round on themselves several times before nearing their goal, all the while being kept under close observation from the defensive layer above.

None of these, howbeit, impressed Akihito as did the donjon roof. Perching atop the projecting roofs of curved gables of the majestic castle tower was a _kinshachi_ —mythical tiger-headed fish that served as a talisman for prevention against fire. Since the sculptural masterwork was wrought entirely of gold, Akihito marveled if even ten years' worth of crops from his village could afford such sumptuousness.

Never before in Akihito's life had he been saluted like a hero—the guards at the grand _yagura-mon_ gate rushed from both sides of the masonry structure of the rampart to salute Asami, who entered the castle ground with the decapitated head of the mantis demon who had massacred castle guards and bounty hunters alike and whose power of name alone had instilled fear amongst the fief populace.

The banquet that ensued was an accumulation of splendors far more than a simple peasant like Akihito could have asked for. A wardsman led the two vagabonds through a stately hallway, in whose carven timbers and ornate walls opulence was manifest; thence he came into the vast audience-room illumed by multitudes of lanterns. Each served dish was the paramount of culinary masterpiece and each virtuosic swerve of the graceful dancers was nothing like Akihito had ever seen aforetime. The feudal lord's generous supply of sake even convinced Asami not to pursue his wayfaring before breakfast.

Presently, an enormous surge of heat rose to Akihito's physiognomy, but he dared not shift. He noticed how close their two reclining figures were and how securely Asami held him in his arms, causing the blush to creep even further to his ears. Was there a way that enabled him to slip out under this predicament? He weighed his options: returning to his own slumber, pretending to stretch in his sleep while taking advantage of the movement to break off Asami's embrace, or… No. The third option was unspeakable; how could he rouse the Asami from his sopor?

Akihito's heart was palpitating in his ears the moment he felt the other man's lips at the side of his neck. Muttering every curse word his twenty-three-year-old brain allowed him to cognate under his breath, he closed his eyes, albeit to no avail. Asami was too nigh, too warm, too…

 _'Damn Asami and his pestiferous lust!'_ Akihito snapped his eyes open. If this continued, the diminutive sensation that had started bothering in his loin would magnify.

"A-asami?" he murmured tentatively, unable to bear the tension any longer. When the swordsman did not respond for well-nigh a minute, Akihito breathed a sigh of relief; the lecherous man who incessantly refused to stop touching his body was still lying quiescent in deep slumber. The youth dared not imagine what he would do—or rather, what Asami would do to him—if the older man was awake forsooth.

Akihito was about to nod off to sleep again when Asami stirred, nuzzling his face into Akihito's neck. Even so, Asami's soft, regular breathing told him that the older man was veritably asleep. Akihito squeezed his eyes shut, impelling himself to believe that this wild pounding of his heart was caused by the excitement to kill the man who had massacred the Fukuta Village rather than how exceedingly handsome the man's visage was from such close proximity.

The youth cast another glimpse at the benighted shoji screen. At this time of the day, his mother used to rouse herself from her husband's side to cook yams, millet, or whatever vegetable their little patch of land yielded. The rooster next door would then herald the arrival of dawn with its loud crowing. At this sound, the rest of the family would start their day. Akina would aid her mother cleaning the hut and doing the laundry whereas Akihito and his father would head to the field. Over footpath winding down to the rice field, they would see smoke billowing from the cottage chimneys of thatched roofs. Oft they passed neighboring children playing—Heisuke, who always filled his days with whines; Jinbei, whose nostrils were rarely clean from snot; Sae, whose jokes never failed to crack a smile; little Mayu, who proclaimed herself to be Akihito's bride once she grew up; and Ichiro the optimistic boy who was like a shepherd to them all.

The peaceful land and its residents were no more, perished at the hands of Asami Ryūichi.

Did they scream when his blade was about to severe their necks? Did parents shield their children with their bodies while pleading to the manslayer to spare them? Since Asami had knocked him unconscious, Akihito could not have known.

Glancing at Asami's katana at the far end of the futon, Akihito calculated his way to acquire it. If he could just reach the _sageo_ and hook his finger over that belt cord to pull the sword to his side… If he could just draw the blade from its sheath… If he could just press that cold steel against Asami's warm, pulsing neck… Akihito clenched his jaw. Only cravens succumbed to that line of thinking. He could kill this accursed Asami Ryūichi whenever he so desired, for the deadliest weapon was in his possession. It was neither blade nor poison—a power so different from Asami's but no less potent.

Not only had Asami singled him out of the Fukuta villagers to be kept safe during the massacre, but the swordsman also endeavored pleasure for them both during the union of their flesh. There could be no other way of interpreting it: Asami was enamored of him.

Akihito had learned the way of the sword, practiced with Asami every day, and watched his mortal enemy's habits. He had learned by heart that the mastery of the sword involved far more than the swinging of a blade; it was a primarily mental activity that demanded extreme focus, control, and alertness, none of which was readily apparent to the uninitiated. The more he absorbed the knowledge, the more he became convinced that he stood no chance to be victorious over Asami through clean combat. The weakness of the flesh, on the other hand, might prove to be Asami Ryūichi's undoing.

The swordsman was twelve years above Akihito's age—the same age as his youngest uncle in Izu, to whom he had entrusted his twin sister prior to the Fukuta holocaust.

_'Akina…'_

Akina was presently alive and well, but in accomplishing so, Akihito had sacrificed Takato's life. It was he who requested one of his best friends to escort his sister to Izu, since the roads were too dangerous for a young woman, especially one with Akina's pulchritude, to travel alone. Disguised as an elderly couple, Akina and Takato had an untroubled itinerary and reached Izu safe and sound. Nevertheless, on his journey homeward, Takato was ambuscaded by brigands.

Such was Akina's account when Akihito found her strolling across a bridge at Azuchi. She also informed him that she had been wedded.

As Akihito listened to each of her syllables, a sudden alienism claimed his being, making him feel strangely withdrawn from the standing figure of his younger twin. Little Akina, who used to play tag with him and frisk in the wildest gambols until their mother berated them for not succoring her with the household chores, had become a part of another man's family. "The first time we met, Konnosuke was selling medicines in Izu. His concoction saved aunt's life and he kept visiting uncle's house five days in a row to inquire about her recuperation."

"Which he did so in attempt to court you?" Akihito appended, suspicion dripping from his tone.

Akina fiddled her fingers, a blush upon her lovely cheeks. "Well … he confessed that much, much later." She continued her speech with such rapidity, "He visited Izu every month since then and he asked for my hand on his third visit."

Seeing the knot betwixt Akihito's eyebrows, Akina added, "Do you disapprove because he is from a merchant class? Please tell me 'tis not so; I have had enow reprimand from uncle and aunt. I … I even had to tell them that I was with child, otherwise they would not give me to Konnosuke."

"How dare he besmirch you and put you into such wretchedness!" As Akihito enunciated his concern, his face became livid with wrath and his hands balled into fists.

"No, Aki-nii; Konnosuke is an honorable man who would not make me do anything against my will, nor did he lay a finger upon me before we forged our conjugal tie here, in Azuchi. And … and … as a husband, he has never treated me with disrespect hitherto. Confabulating a lie to uncle and aunt is a poor way to repay their kindness, but I saw no other path."

Akihito shook his head before speaking in a low, resigned tone, "How could you entrust your weal and woe to a man with whom you were barely acquainted?"

"Hearken, I used to be a three-and-twenty-year-old spinster, since no one in Fukuta would take me as his wife because we were regarded as cursed children. Now that a good man has finally laid his eyes upon me…"

Akihito swallowed. Not only had the twins been born in the hour of the ox, but the two neighboring women, who assisted in Takaba Chie's labor, had died the next morning—one had slipped off a cliff, the other caught fire while cooking. At the age of six, Akina had been missing for two whole days during a hide-and-seek play and had been suspected for being spirited away. At seven, both Akihito and Daiki had fallen off a tree, but the former had suffered only bruises whereas the latter had injured his spine and become impaired with lifetime blindness. At eight, Akihito and Akina had been the only children whom dengue fever had not ravaged, even though all other village children had been bedridden. Year after year, mischances kept befalling those who had been near to them.

Kō and Takato had been kind enough to befriend Akihito despite those calamities, and there had also been Mitarai, who had taken delight in playing pranks on him now and then, but others had been reluctant to be near him. Akina had suffered worse. Her best friend, Hikari, had died from typhus in her twelfth summer and no one had comforted Akina thenceforth. The women of the village had even distanced themselves from Akina when she had been washing the laundry on the firth. Most girls had cradled their firstborn ere they had gained twenty years in age, but no parent would allow their son to become Akina's suitor. Only the neighboring children, who had been too young to be daunted by superstitions, would treat Akina and Akihito as fellow villagers.

Akihito sighed, "Akina, answer me truthfully: does this Konnosuke fill your life with glee?"

She nodded, and Akihito saw nothing but the truth in her eyes. "Very well," he affirmed. "As long as he loves and treasures you, it matters not to me what sort of person he is. Congratulations on your espousal, and I pray for your happiness."

"So, this is Akina?" Asami's voice resounded from behind.

The moment Akihito turned around and saw Asami approach carrying a pot of sake, a rising anxiety gripped his gut. Akina had the same countenance as him, but she was female by nature. What if…?

Which one Akihito was being jealous of, howbeit, was a different question.

With a smile that did not seem to belong to such a reticent swordsman, Asami introduced himself, "I am called Asami Ryūichi by name. I am your brother's—"

"Sword master," Akihito interrupted him. _'Akina must not know.'_

Their discourse proceeded pleasantly therewith until the two men went on their way. Akihito knew better than to doubt Akina's sincerity when she said that she would rest assured leaving her brother in the care of a reliable man such as Asami. Much to the elder twin's relief, not once did Asami essay to make a move on the woman whose countenance mirrored Akihito's … albeit Asami did not let the subject of Akihito covering their relationship from Akina slip as a teasing material for days to come.

_'That loathsome bastard!'_

Why did Asami have to possess that flawlessly chiseled chest? And those crescent moon-shaped red marks nigh his shoulders, engraved unashamedly by Akihito's very own fingers…

Wherefore did every part of every thought have to lead him straight to that accursed swordsman?

The previous night Akihito had been trapped betwixt the futon and the weight of Asami's passion. With Asami's rasping breath in his ear, the ceiling and floor seemed to disperse into a bygone vapor. And afterwards, amidst Asami's limbs, Akihito kept his own entwined. Afterwards, he even fell asleep with his head resting on Asami's chest and his arms clinging without the remotest desire to leave. As though clutching to those embarrassingly lewd memories had not been enough, Akihito resorted to Repeat.

Three days ere they sailed for Kyūshū, behind the veil of a waterfall, Asami embraced Akihito from behind. The boy gripped the border of stone in front of him as the swordsman's flesh, hardened with desire, sank into him. But even after a white streak of Akihito's seminal fluid spattered through the turquoise water, Asami did not stop. He elevated Akihito's thigh and entered him more rigorously owing to this wider access. After a while, he also did the same to Akihito's other leg, holding the smaller man at the back of the knees and lowering Akihito's body to meet each of his thrusts.

The week before, they passed a small, waist-height shrine for travelers' safety prayers while walking along the mountain path. Without preamble, Asami shoved Akihito onto the shrine. Ere the boy could voice his complaint, a pair of hands slithered past the partition of his kimono, exploring his hips to undo his loincloth. Akihito's chest heaved as he panted, even as Asami continued leaving bites and marks across his thighs. He shivered, another stammered curse leaving his lips as the taller man's hand found his neglected length and started stroking him roughly, occasionally trailing a single finger over his balls. The diminutive shrine rocked and creaked, its frail wood complaining for the abuse. On and on it groaned in squeaky underscore to the low grunts, the soft keens, and the lewd sounds of wet squelching and smacking skin. Deep and hard, there was no amount of panting in the world that could make either man catch his breath.

Then, there was their little escapade in a cave. Against Akihito's pride, his body—ready, willing, and able—arched to the insistent curl of Asami's fingers. No matter where Akihito went, Asami was upon him like ineluctable shadow. Beneath the dominant thrust of Asami's hips, Akihito could do barely more than give himself up for the taking. The seducer left him no other choice but to throw his arms around the taller man's shoulders as the penetration quickened. Pushing against him, Asami grasped Akihito's thighs and hooked them around his hips. Contently, the older man watched his partner throwing his head back in a scream of pleasure, which reverberated through the walls of stones.

None of these, howbeit, was as humiliating as the day after Asami rescued Akihito from the Fukuta Village.

Owing to his lack of vesture, courtesy of Asami's ripping his kimono apart in the forest, Akihito attempted to steal a piece of laundry from one of the residential houses the moment they arrived at the nearest town. Being caught red-handed by the kimono owner's neighbor was a mere beginning of Akihito ill fortune. It had only been after a series of imbroglios, which nearly resulted in public chastisement, did Asami redress his "disciple's" peccadillo with sound reimbursement, accompanied by Akihito's full apology.

Akihito already wist that it would be too good to be true if Asami should let him off the hook. Nonetheless, excitement hung in the air as the country bumpkin stood breathless; the sight of the town filled his eyes with wonders and worries were forthwith lifted from his mind. Pleasant were the verdant fields of Fukuta, interspersed with thatched cottages and their little green-hedged patches; but still pleasanter was a town, with its shiny shingled roofs and luxuriant _ukiyo-e_ and vibrant kimono and limitless food variety and countless peddlers. The streets were so crowded that even the entire population of his village could not possibly rival the number of pedestrians on one street here.

In a childlike disposition, Akihito sprightly exclaimed, "Lo! Asami, have eyes beheld such marvels?"

It was eventide when the two travelers, having passed gleaming sundown thoroughfares, came to the edge of a camphor grove girdling a purling brook. Akihito did not suspect that Asami's idea of a punishment would involve the tying of his own _obi_ around one ankle, the looping of said obi over a tree branch, and the binding of his wrists with the other end of the obi. Coerced to stand on one leg with both arms up, Akihito condemned Asami with countless expletives. Even so, the more he tried to lower his arms, the higher his tied leg would lift and the more exposed his crotch became. And Asami, that debauched mongrel, dipped his head there and showed Akihito the wonders of his tongue.

"Hngh! Stop! Asami, such a place is filthy! What kind of man would lick another man's parts in the likeness of a pig?! Cease, I say! Ahn~"

Inasmuch as Akihito thrashed his body about, there was nothing he could do to prevent the stiffening of his erection and the leaking of its early desire. Under the illumination of the cloud-shrouded plenilune, Asami kept touching him in a manner no man had ever touched him heretofore. Those merciless hands trekked downward from Akihito's hips, stopping their attentiveness to the boy's inner thighs, moving across the pin bones, fondling the curvaceous buttocks, and fiddling sensuously with the dimples.

Asami paused only long enough to utter, "If you struggle too much, my teeth may graze your skin," before nipping loathsomely at the sensitive area betwixt Akihito's sac and rear orifice.

Tears of shame welling up the corners of his eyes, the tied-up youth cast his captor a look of contempt. "You will not obtain impunity from this. One day, I shall kill you and throw your carcass to dogs!"

But Asami carried on, laving Akihito's skin with the fervid strokes of his tongue until the youth trembled under his touch. A sly smirk tugged at those sinful lips as they slowly, torturously took in the head of Akihito's masculinity, deft tongue flicking over its slit before swirling around the crown. Then the same tongue darted out and dragged itself along the underside of Akihito's member.

Akihito could not preclude whimper after whimper from passing his throat as Asami prolonged a steady pace of bobbing and sucking, his mouth kept licking and kissing teasingly all the while his moist tongue playing with both the head and the foreskin of Akihito's member. Gritting his teeth at the noises, the captive suspected that the taller man was purposefully slurping because he knew how much the sounds chagrined him. Worse still, Akihito sensed the intrusion of Asami's fingers at his backside, teasing his pleasure spot as well as stretching him.

A sweat drop rolled down Akihito's forehead as he watched the movements of Asami's head and the hollowing of Asami's cheeks. Swallowing the humiliation, he implored, "No more…"

When Asami removed his mouth from Akihito's privates, for once Akihito thought Asami's heart might not be entirely free of compassion. Nonetheless, the delving of the swordsman's manhood proved how wrong the naïve boy was. The taller man rose to his feet and took him relentlessly, plunging in and pulling out, again and again. With every thrust, he took delight in deepening the flush of the boy's cheeks until all the modesty left within Akihito melted within Asami's heated embrace.

In all those times, no matter how determined he intended to resist, Asami had always taken Akihito over the border of insanity. It was agony and ecstasy immixed. His mouth might spurn Asami with a thousand "noes," but the rest of his body acknowledged to whom it belonged.

###

And now, Akihito's peace was yet again interrupted by another slide of Asami's hand. He swatted the hand aside, only to discern that it returned with singular persistency, its grasp firmer upon his body. The formerly impersonal touches had evolved into licentious gropes.

"Asami!"

The owner of the hand still had his eyes closed, but the corner of his lips curved upwards in self-complacency. One tug was all it took before Akihito found himself fully caged within Asami's embrace. "You will still have no capacity to take my life in fifty years to come if you hesitate to kill a man in his sleep."

Akihito's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Asami's statement, but he quickly fabricated a reply, "I merely desired to take a closer look at your sword, for I am astonished at what that single blade can achieve."

"Years of training were indemnified in advance for those accomplishments."

"Such modesty from a man who had robbed the bright future from me." Akihito strived to liberate himself from his captor.

"Voiced by one who essayed to take mine."

"Curse you!" Akihito panted, too distracted by the caress of Asami's thumb along the side of his neck and the warmth of Asami's breath at the hollow of his throat to weigh his word.

The older man's eyes snapped open, mesmerizing orbs of gold affronting the boy. "Wherefore the denial, Akihito? Have the times in which our flesh were joined not proven that your body enjoys the touch of man?"

"My feelings forbid it in every respect."

"Your feelings?" Asami husked from where his face was buried in the slope of Akihito's neck. "When I held you, did you not also mewl with delight? Were those not your honest feelings? Or did you truly mean 'touch me not' when your mouth articulated, 'more, Asami, more'?"

"You…" was all that managed to spring from Akihito's throat; the boy could barely string a thought together with all the distractions Asami's willfulness thwarted him. When a slick tongue moved its way betwixt his lips, he was vaguely aware of which swearword he chose as his response. When a pair of hands roamed across his skin, he made hesitant attempt to cover himself and did not truly recoil each time those covetous fingers touched his equally covetous body just a little more. When another man's figure looming over him, he could not help but buck his hips against the man pinning him down so that he could seek more of friction between them.

But hesitation flickered in Akihito's eyes; he looked as though he was fighting down both the urges to push Asami away and to cling at him. The youth took several deep breaths, glaring at the older man.

"What is the matter?" Asami coaxed again, "Are you still spiteful of what bechanced Fukuta?"

"It is not merely that on which my repulsion of you was founded. Let me go!"

Asami chuckled, but narrowed the distance betwixt their two bodies instead. "Don't you mean, 'let me come'?"

Asami's hands traveled down Akihito's thighs, and the boy experienced the same old shiver that always visited him whenever the older man had his way with him. The youth's traitorous legs parted just a little more, earning him a thread of pleasure. But then Asami's wandering palms moved upwards, ghosting over the taunt plains of Akihito's abdomen to tease the pectoral nubs, which hardened immediately under Asami's suavity. Next, those hands went down again, causing Akihito's breath to catch in anticipation, but in lieu of caressing the young man where he wanted, the ten fingers slid over Akihito's flanks and behind to fondle the twin mounds of Akihito's rear. A soft moan escaped Akihito's lips, and he rolled his hips. Then the jaw that clenched around the truth he already cognized of: it was both a curse and a blessing that it was only Asami Ryūichi who could make him feel like this.

Asami's hands squeezed thrice before pulling Akihito's nether cheeks apart. A finger brushed over the boy's entrance and circumnavigated the furled ring in small circles, rubbing but never pushing in. Akihito emitted a frustrated growl. He craved to be entered. No, he was _in_ _need_ of it, but Asami would not bestow the gift ere he begged. Curses; that only made him want it all the more!

"Make haste and finish what you started!" Akihito grumbled through gritted teeth.

The seducer breathed, teasingly sultry, "Why the hurry, lad?"

The boy huffed, but past experience told him that wounding his pride by dint of a debasing submission was the only way to obtain his true desire. "I…" He averted his gaze from Asami's, crimson shade across his countenance; what his pride forbade, his flesh desired. "I can wait no longer. 'Tis you that I need."

Slowly Asami descended upon Akihito, the long hard line of his body pressing demandingly to the younger man's. But the complacence in Asami's tone as he replied "very well" tempted Akihito to punch him. As a matter of fact, he might have as well, had it not for the prickling pain that spread through him as he was stretched; Asami's finger had entered him and thrust back and forth.

"This part of you is still moist from yesternight," Asami commented right before he pushed another finger into the searing tight sheath. Akihito fisted the hem of Asami's kimono; it was hard to retort with the pain that was now diffusing in his veins.

Snaking their way, Asami's two fingers seemed to be searching for something. They maddeningly slithered and writhed inside Akihito. Their quest was rewarded as a third finger joined them, pushing deep into the youth and brushing against the spot that drew out Akihito's cry of pleasure.

Then something much larger than any of the swordsman's fingers brushed betwixt Akihito's thighs and he only had a split second to realize that this was what he had demanded—Asami's virility inside him. The taller man dipped his head to trail his hair against Akihito's jawline, his lips to the pulse at the boy's neck as his flesh eased gently inside. Akihito arched his back. This pain … how could this man instill him with the pleasures of heaven and the pains of hell at the same time?

Asami stilled, allowing the rippled protestation of his partner's muscles to conform to his flesh as the boy's rectal muscles stretched to accommodate his girth. "Akihito…"

There was so much gentleness in that voice— _too_ much gentleness for a voice that belonged to the manslayer who had incinerated his village. Akihito bemoaned opening his eyes the moment he did, since what he saw melted him with all manner of feelings he had not prepared to undergo. There was something no less than a thoroughly abiding affection on Asami's face, if not an insatiable infatuation, which made him feel that Asami did not deserve the resentment he had harbored.

The youth nodded because he doubted his own capability of forming coherent words at that moment. The narrow strait within him relaxed. The pain was pushed to the back of his mind, ignored in favor of the pure thrill he felt, and the mad passion making him thrust his hip up madly to urge Asami to continue.

But when Asami caressed Akihito's jawline, a voice reverberated inside the youth's head, telling him that what his heart felt for Asami he would feel his whole life long.

 _'It must not be; this man annihilated your village and has emasculated you for countless times!'_ another voice inside Akihito insisted with unbending obduracy.

Hence, Akihito pushed Asami away from him.

"You are still denying me?" Asami asked, and from that tone, Akihito could guess that the promiscuous swordsman would still take him, be it by acquiescence or resistance.

Akihito crept toward Asami to unknot Asami's obi and discard his kimono. Entangling his hand around the back of Asami's neck, Akihito drew the taller man up for a kiss. His mouth found Asami's soft, yet fierce lips, moving against his with unending rapacity. Their tongues danced around each other, caressing at first, then twirling and twisting as the kiss deepened, until all too soon they were lost in the midst of their passion. Eager to comply, Asami settled against Akihito—chest to chest and hip to hip. But the boy pinned the swordsman down with his body and trapped Asami's hips betwixt his thighs, disallowing the older of them to rise.

"'Tis your wish to ride me today?" Asami cajoled between the kisses as he reposed to a more comfortable position.

Akihito responded not with words; rather, the youth kept kissing Asami with fiercer tenacity. Nor did he draw back when Asami's roaming hands fondled his rear mounds and discarded his loincloth. In retaliation, Akihito's fingers fumbled around Asami's loincloth and within seconds the garment—the last barrier betwixt their naked skins—was gone.

Asami's slick tongue traversed the younger man's silken collarbones and hairless chest, pausing to nip with exquisite precision on the pebbled nubs before continuing over Akihito's lightly convulsing stomach. His deft fingers explored downwards, past Akihito's slender waist and down to the expanse of Akihito's thighs, and to Akihito, each touch felt soft as snow but blistered like fire.

Akihito made a sound that was well-nigh a whimper as he went taut above Asami. After so frequent a carnal union, he had assumed he would grow accustomed to the anomalies of Asami's prying touches. And yet, not even once had he succeeded in taking grasp of his self-control during the deluge of Asami's passion.

Even as he positioned himself just above the tip of Asami's erection, Akihito flushed. The sight of Asami's bare body, despite its familiarity, had never failed to take his breath away thus far—the perfection of Asami's abdomen, the sturdiness of his hips, the beckoning curvature of his sex, and the endless complexity of indentations, shadow play and curves of his body. He bit his lip to prevent him from groaning as Asami's hardened flesh slowly but surely breached him. Akihito tightened his grip on Asami's nape then, emanating a half-restrained sound that was somewhere between a groan and a growl while impaling himself to the hilt on his partner's proud masculinity.

Much to Asami's amusement, intimacy with Akihito was always enlivened with a mix of need and denial and chagrin and pleasure. The contradictions were recurrent, for an internal battle kept raging under Akihito's skin and it was reflected on his face, by every muscle in his body, in everything he did. Resisting but yielding. Flinching away but pressing closer. Loathing but wanting.

Arching afore Asami, Akihito dug his fingers into his partner's shoulders, fresh sweat slicking their skin as they moved. Those fingers slid across Asami's forearm, exhorting him to move faster through the quiver on their tips rather than the pressure of strength.

Enthralled by the fire of Akihito's passion, Asami eyed the boy in silent agreement. He could not repress his shudder as he ground up against the younger man.

As soon as his wordless plea was granted, Akihito swayed his hips downwards to meet Asami's hits. He was panting, insinuations falling from his mouth even as his legs were wrapped around Asami's waist to bring the taller man closer to him. He would never spill the words that were going to make Asami smugger than he already was, but Akihito found craving in being yoked into the manifestation of the swordsman's power. There was no need to mention it, at any rate; the uncurbed tumult in his chest told him that Asami already cognizant.

It was all sweat and sex, indecorous and ignominious, and Akihito was repulsed with himself for desiring to be conquered in this fashion, even if he also wanted to castrate the accursed man so that his grin turned into a grimace. At the sight of Asami's smirk, Akihito bit the junction of the older man's neck, hard enough to leave a mark that would grow into a bruise within a few hours.

Asami showed no dismay toward this deportment. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Akihito's waist, pulling him closer until his breath fanned the side of the young man's neck, to which Akihito, who was breathless after his endless kisses and touches, did not flinch.

Just as Asami had plied Akihito's insides to a perfect sheath for his manhood, Akihito branded Asami's skin with his own marks. Through ecstasy and agony, Akihito's toes curled into the sheets, his legs spreading wider to welcome the bruising press of Asami's hips. His own loins were trapped against the quiver and flex of Asami's stomach and his body wanted to fight the weight that was draped around him, but his partner held him tight and kept him anchored, taking him like no one else could.

As always, whenever Asami did that, Akihito could not do more than gasp and groan and grunt. Guttural sounds tore from deep within his chest, the occasional mutinous whimper slipping from his lips whenever the tip of the older man's length jabbed just the right place inside him. The swordsman was not faring much better himself; his normally reticent visage was now wearing emotions that Akihito had never seen exposed to others' view.

Akihito discerned that Asami was nearing his peak, feeling it in how his thrusts accelerated and how his skin was streaked with sweat under his fingers. Yet, ere he could savor the taste of triumph, his own eruption gushed through his loins.

Akihito's strangled caterwauling was preceded by a mess of curses interwoven with Asami's name. His back arched as he climaxed, spurts of pearlescent liquid across his partner's chest. His cheeks suffused with disturbing shade of carmine. His stomach contracted, his hips shook, his insides throbbed around the conquering flesh. His seed marked Asami Ryūichi—the one man that had made Akihito's pride disintegrate into dust.

Asami stilled his motions, but did not withdraw, relishing the throb of Akihito's inner walls several times more while squeezing the part of him that was inside the boy. He clenched his jaw; at this rate, he was not going to last much longer.

Asami rose to a sitting position, bringing Akihito's torso with him so that the younger man now sat on his lap, cushioned by his thighs. He pressed his body forward, betwixt Akihito's thighs, to keep them parted. Sliding his hands down, the taller man maneuvered Akihito's legs until they wrapped around his waist.

Before he felt the bulky flesh, full of invigorated intensity, push into him from below, Akihito was aware of the faint brushing of Asami's lips against his neck. Those lips had a taste of tempest on them when upon his mouth, drowning him in a the fathomless sea of lust—his seducer never failed to distract him with little nips and kisses that made his jade stalk twitch with renewed interest.

Akihito's breath caught in his throat as Asami filled him to the brim yet again. He had just reached his peak, but his body was athirst for a second helping. When Asami held him in this way, Akihito's concupiscent eyes wist only one thing: desire. To everything else, he was blind. Asami's lips were laced with birdlime and his fingers, with fire—once he lavished Akihito with kisses, the boy was caught; once he touched him, the boy burned.

Asami seized Akihito's hips and held him in place as he rammed inside; his thrusts penetrated deeper and grew with rising vehemence.

With his own erection jutting out in front of his partner, Akihito cried out. His fingers tangled in the richness of Asami's hair as the older man motioned his hips to gyrate against the youth's opening. His parted thighs wrapped around his partner tighter still, ankles crossed above Asami's hips.

Enjoyment glittered in Asami's golden eyes as they watched how Akihito's lips parted to spout syllables that splintered into gasps, sundered by each of his thrusts.

Not even the breath of wintry morning air fanned the heavy drops of perspiration on Akihito's forehead. His sac was straining. Asami had initiated him with his incommensurable passion since the beginning—the soul-shatterer that rattled him no less leniently than a boa constricting its prey. And now, the same passion with its bitter sweetness kept chasing Akihito, filling his flesh, overwhelming his core, and shaking his person. The indefatigable man claimed him again and again, hitting so hard that their bodies slapped clamorously against each other's. But the youth was moving with his partner, sinking his groin as Asami crested to meet him. Their bodies undulated in a harmonious rhythm and their heavy breathing mingled in the air.

The dawning sun had peeked over the horizon, a burst of gold at the feet of empyreal vermillion. But the spasmodic groaning, which seized Akihito, lasted to the very end. Pride be damned! Akihito gripped Asami's shoulder, sturdy and broad, which tapered gently into the chest along the shaded muscles of the armpit. His legs locking Asami tightly, Akihito pulled his partner as close to him as he could. His muscles clenched and relaxed around Asami's member as it slid in and out of his young body. The twitches in puckered flesh of his orifice grew wilder, allowing a current of lust between his rear and the base of Asami's manhood.

Head thrown back, Akihito trembled again in another lingering quake of rapture, but this time, he did not come alone. A few short, sharp snaps of Asami's hips as the shaft inside him throbbed more wildly and then the older man's seed flowed into the youth's intimate channel. Notwithstanding Akihito's reluctance to admit it, there was a perfect feeling of being joined completely with Asami—more than the entwinement of their bodies, their souls also amalgamated in the heat of their passion.

If this were not completeness, then he wist not what was.

###

Subsequent to their matutinal repast, Asami and Akihito were granted an audience with the feudal lord. As they walked along the corridors, Akihito's eyes could not stop admiring how the walls were embellished with gold leaves and the sliding door paper partitions were painted with geese, storks, monks, and flowers.

Unlike the previous day, a screen presently separated the dais, whereupon the daimyo was seated, from the rest of the hall; it was indecorous for commoners to behold an aristocrat during a formal audience. As propriety ordained, the two guests made obeisance to their host by folding their legs underneath their thighs, placing their hands so close together in front of their knees until the fingertips touched with elbows out in the shape of angular brackets, and bowing their upper bodies forward until their backs became parallel to the tatami.

It was not until the lord of the castle commanded from behind the bamboo blind, "Raise your heads," did the two men's _goshu-zarei_ dispel into _seiza_.

"How do you like it here, rōnin?"

Asami answered, " _Oyakata-sama_ , the life in a castle seems extravagant and leisurely."

The daimyo questioned Akihito next, "And you, young one, are you of the same voice as your master?"

Inasmuch as it irked Akihito to hear Asami being referred as his master, he responded with the monosyllabic, "Aye."

"Ah, so green and easily pleased. Politics have drained away all the innocence in me since before you were born. How I envy your youth and all the wonders you have yet to discover!"

Akihito squinted; what was the feudal lord's motive for bringing up this topic?

The daimyo continued, "Alas, who in this transient world exists forever? Just as fragrant sakura petals are doomed to scatter and wither, breath is destined to flee the wearied flesh of men. What are your thoughts, demon-slayer?"

"I agree," Asami replied as calm as ever.

"And do you not also agree that the life in this castle is the type of life without toils sought by many—awe-inspiring during one's prime and easy for one's ripe old age?" With the lord's voice came a soft rustle of the unfolding of a fan.

"I do indeed."

"Well then, a rōnin with no fixed purpose in view will debilitate from the scorn of years. Ere your body becomes unable to hold that sword and takes to road no more, surely you desire the comfort of a home and the warmth of a family to welcome you?" the daimyo declared confidently, his words a finely-masked decree that none would decline. "My daughter is at a nubile age. Many have sought her hand, but who else is worthy of her but a strong and illustrious man? You have shown yourself to be just such a man, and I would seek to reward you by giving her unto your care as wife. She will bear you strong sons to secure my lineage, and I shall repose knowing my lands will be governed in good hands. After all, without a son of my own, I must consider who will succeed me, and this decision sets my mind at ease."

A noblewoman and a man of low birth in matrimony? Akihito would have readily trusted in the strength of a grasshopper's arms than the accuracy of his own ears, had it not for the chatter between the lady of the castle and her daughter the previous evening.

###

When he saw how Asami's eyes fell upon both the warbler and lute player who entertained them during the banquet, Akihito poured himself sake from as many bottles within his reach. The hot trail left behind by the alcohol clawing its way down his throat helped distract his mind from an infuriation gnawing his insides. Should the swordsman not focus on the constant peril of Akihito's vengeance instead? Beauteous though those two lasses were, how dare Asami beheld them that way in his presence! Nor did it put Akihito's mind at ease that a handful of other wenches from the same performing group had ensconced themselves in the laps of castle officials who had surrendered themselves to inebriety and debauchery.

Akihito passed tormented moments alone. With the same indifference that a sleepless wretched man tortured by wakefulness watched the scintillations of the stars, so did he see pass before his eyes all this whirl of performers in their unnoted charm. Soon, the amount of drink in his bladder gave Akihito the excuse to leave the hall, wherein shouts and laughter rose all about men who were exchanging inconsequential chatters. Yet even after he had relieved himself, he did not feel like coming back to the banquet. Instead, he meandered around the castle—it was a once-a-lifetime chance, so he might as well make the most of it.

With every turn he took, Akihito was awed by the craftsmanship of the castle. It was a magnificent construction in wood, combining function with aesthetic appeal, its graceful appearance unified by the white plastered earthen walls and the subtlety of the relationships between the building masses and the multiple roof layers.

In addition to the main complex there are several other buildings, which served as residences and storehouses. The east side of the castle housed army barracks, as well as tea-houses, smithies, temples, and other amenities. In the southeast corner of the court was the _harakiri-maru_ , whence the warriors would commit suicide. An immense garden, which stretched throughout the castle's north side, was designed to emulate steep hills, forests, and deep ravines along with various kinds of walkways, including a stone bridge over a pond, a montane pathway, and a shoreline path.

The promenade in and around the donjon took longer than what Akihito boded. Following sundown, the wintry wind bit the marrow of his bones and the bitter snow began to buffet his face, for it was the twelfth month of the year. By the time the young man returned inside, he was bewildered at how many candles were being employed to illuminate each room. Back in Fukuta, the hearth remained the sole source of illumination in each household; no man could afford a single tallowed wax, save for the village headman.

Weary and footsore, Akihito rested under the stairs, where no daimyo's retainer would question his wandering. He took out the versatile pouch that Akina had given him to remember her by. Spinning its string around his index finger, he wondered whether his sister had to endure the same jealousy. Absent-mindedly he recalled her declaring, "Konnosuke is not half as fine-looking as your swordmaster, but he has the wisdom of our father even though he is but three years above our age."

Just then, Akihito perceived a cat approaching him. "Come hither, kitty."

The white cat seemed very tame; it even let Akihito pet its neck. Putting Akina's pouch on his lap, Akihito continued playing with the cat's soft fur…

…until the cat sniffed on the pouch, took the pouch in its maw, and bolted away. Now that Akihito thought of it, he had used the pouch to store his leftover meal at one point.

"Fie! Come back, you little thief!"

The cat climbed onto one of the beams that supported the ceiling. Akihito followed suit, carefully keeping his balance while gripping at the cypress beam. The chase went on for quite a while; the cat nimbly evaded Akihito with every turn, and the gap between them grew large enough for it to poke its head inside the pouch. Met with vacant cotton, it forsook the pouch before leaving in disappointment.

It was not until Akihito had picked up the discarded pouch did he take notice of his location. This part of the castle was forbidden for outsiders, let alone the male ones. It was the ceiling of the very bedchamber of feudal lord's daughter. From the poles of an _iko_ hung a silk kimono of the richest vivid dyes of which sleeves were of the wide _furisode_ type designated for unmarried maidens. Nearby, a cabinet of drawers and a low table laden with calligraphy equipment were set. A vase, elegantly arranged with flowers and bamboo stalks, occupied its alcove. The room itself was at least twice as big as the guestroom wherein Asami and Akihito were lodged. Its lower walls were lavishly adorned in black lacquered boards depicting plum blossoms.

The owner of the room was sitting next to an _okiandon_ and shaped her fingers in the likened of a rabbit's head. Suspending the hand in front of the rectangular lantern's paper screen, she spoke with a childish voice, "Goodnight, Kuma-san."

An older woman donned in a matron's attire, who sat opposite her, held her hand in the shape of a bear and replied, "Rest well, Usagi-san."

The younger woman stroked her stomach and inquired, "How did I fare, lady mother? Will this child like my shadow play?"

"I am sure the babe will love it, just as how you loved my storytelling as an infant."

The younger woman approached her dressing table. She did not resume speaking until she combed her long hair. "That is, if your husband does not condemn my child with the same fate as my lover."

Her mother sighed. "Fuyu, your father ordered Kengo's execution in impetuosity, but now he repented and vowed not to leave his grandchild-to-be fatherless."

"That man is _not_ my father." Bitterness spiked Fuyu's voice. "He is the killer of my true father."

Her mother sighed once more before soughing, "I erred, yea, but not one I regretted, for without such a mistake, you would never have been born. My lord husband's seed was fruitless in my womb and, in my eagerness to give him an heir, I lay with his page. A sin indeed, for Isamu's neck became the price of my folly. Still, dearest daughter, my lord husband had raised you as his own child hitherto; you must not wish him ill."

The hard lines on Fuyu's physiognomy did not disappear in spite of her mother's soft-spoken voice. Nor did she offer any reply.

Thus, her mother said, "I heard Sadahiko-sama making queries about the selection of Noh performers for your upcoming wedding. This will assuredly avoid shame in our family; the man of your father's choosing has the reputation that precedes him notwithstanding his ignoble birth."

With distaste in her tone, she asked, "But will one with such fame fain to be espoused to a woman with child?"

"A peasant woman with child, methinks not. On the other hand, a noblewoman with child is still more than he deserves."

Fuyu set down her comb on the dressing table. "Then it shall be to this castle, not me, that our scapegrace's love shall be addressed. Kengo, albeit a mere foot soldier, truly cared for my wellbeing."

"'Tis not lovers who choose love; it claims them as it wills." She tilted her daughter's chin. "Your feminine charm may yet to entice him; at any rate, count not your chicks before the eggs hatch."

"In that respect, lady mother, one can only hope he is not as atrocious as Lord Kazahaya's eldest son or as detestable as Lord Tokudaiji's fifth son."

###

"To a wanderer, not even seneschal comfort could sound more melodious than the whistling wind in the undulations of a lush meadow and could smell more intoxicating than fresh seaweed by the shore."

As Asami spoke, undaunted by the prospect of his adversary's displeasure, Akihito noticed that Asami's sitting posture altered slightly into one he normally used for sword drawing, even though his hand seemed to be nowhere nigh the hilt and his figure showed no stiffness.

An irate bellow burst from behind the bamboo blind, "YOU DARE TO DEFY MY BEHEST?!"

This, Akihito surmised, had to be an alarum for attack, for a hundred soldiers stormed inside. They positioned themselves in two files, each bow strung with their arrow aimed at Asami and Akihito, awaiting the right moment to let fly.

"I ask you once again, impertinent scoundrel," the feudal lord demanded, his voice rising, "Will you wed my daughter and inherit this castle?"

"I am not." Asami neither quivered nor quailed; the duress did naught to perturb his voice.

The lord of the castle slammed his folded fan to the ground as he roared, "I AM DAIMYO! I AM THE MAN WHO HOLDS THE HIGHEST AUTHORITY IN THIS LAND!"

"Still, in nowise can you ever be _tono_ to me," Asami asseverated with fey in his expression and determination in his voice.

"Unsay those contumacious words at once!"

Although the bamboo blind undoubtedly concealed the feudal lord's wrathful countenance, it could not hide the vicious timbre of his voice. Akihito swallowed hard. Yet, the only answer Asami gave was an unfazed silence.

In a disquieting tone, the daimyo scoffed, "You are reputed to wield the prowess equal to that of fifty men, Asami Ryūichi. Now I shall see for myself if rumors are true." Then he ordered his guards in a louder voice, "Exterminate this filth! Kill his disciple, too; a thorn stings even if it's small!" At the daimyo's impetuous command, a hundred arrows flew from their bows straight at Asami and Akihito.

Akihito hastily plucked up one of the tatami mats covering the floor. The height of the makeshift shield compelled him to rise on his feet to hold it, and its width was too large for ideal mobility, but he had no other weapon. Asami's sword and even the bamboo sword Asami had crafted for him were both kept in their room, as it was a courtesy prevalent amongst those of lesser ranks whilst in audience with a daimyo.

The tatami, which Akihito held to fortify the left side, shook with tremendous force; five arrow heads pierced through it, and more of them, having been deflected, hit the ground with dull thuds. At least this could hold off the shower of arrows from the left for a little longer, while Asami defended the right. Akihito glanced to his right and, with cold sweat streaking down his temple saw for the first time that Asami was not there whereas the soldiers from the right file had loosened their shafts at him.

Abandoning the shield of tatami, Akihito ducked as fast as his body allowed, crouching close to the ground. More arrows pelted from above, and the next second, pain pricked his arm—one of the vicious shafts had grazed it. Wincing, he drew in a sharp breath and lifted his eyes to study his surroundings. Asami was advancing forward, simultaneously evading the flying arrows and rolling away as discreetly as unheard thunder. The soldiers on the left files notched arrows to their bows, but those on the right were still drawing the next batch of arrows from their quivers.

At the sight of the arrows he knew would be loosed at any second, Akihito hied amain toward the left file. Each guard drew back the string until it touched his cheek, locked his left arm and loosed the arrow. It whizzed, followed by a deadly shower. Shafts arced through the air about Akihito, and the movements were repeated myriad times. He pressed on, dodging, ducking, turning, swerving, as the archers peppered the space about him with shafts. Two of them caught him—one tore his sleeve, but narrowly missed his arm; the other grazed his ear. Warm blood trickled down the side of his face but he ignored it; now was not the time to fret over petty little scrapes.

The guards greeted Akihito with the swings of their swords and halberds as he reached his destination. Akihito ducked under a vicious cut and, snatching the _wakizashi_ from the nearest guard's hip, flashed the blade through his opponent's eye—one of the advantages in fighting a samurai was that the opponent wore such a sword to be paired together with the katana as the official symbol of his status. The stolen wakizashi was about one palm shorter than his enemies' katana or the bamboo _shinai_ Asami had crafted for their practice _,_ but it would have to do. As the guard screamed in agony, his comrades fell back, moving apart, ready to assail from both flanks.

"Hold! Can we not end this predicament with swords undrawn?" Asami's voice rang loud and clear as the man himself stepped out of the bamboo blind. From his hand dangled the daimyo's severed head, a shaft jutting from his temple. The feudal lord's terror-stricken eyes were wide and his lips parted in a scream, but Asami's arrow had taken his life faster still. The iron tip protruded from the back of the dead man's skull, fresh blood dripping onto the tatami. "Your lord is dead; no longer are you ordained to fight against me."

Movements were stalled. The hundred soldiers' complexions were robbed of their color. All heads turned in the direction of the dais, all eyes directed toward the single man who had so easily taken the feudal lord's life with a purloined stray arrow, absent the aid of a bow.

Hesitation clouded the soldiers' expressions, as it always was when an army of foot soldiers had just lost its general; yet, before they came to terms, one of them stepped forth. He was six or seven years above Akihito, his square face covered with thick beard, his armor clattering with every step he took. From his mouth came a mighty answering roar, "My brothers-in-arms, are we to dishonor the very lord to whom we vowed our allegiance? Are we not to prove ourselves worthy of the days of yore and the leader of our clan, who laid the foundations of our laws and shaped the greatness of our welfare? Should we not cherish and guard our lord's home and family? Here am I calling for justice to the House of Itsutsuji!"

"JUSTICE!" the other soldiers bellowed their reply with determination in their eyes.

Akihito had never seen a man run so fast, so beautifully, covering the length of the hall in what seemed to be a series of still poses. Having snatched the sword of a soldier, Asami swung the blade in front of him, slashes and stabs sparking off the steel—once, twice, and then a hailstorm. Several times rounds seemed to strike his limbs and body, but if anything his speed increased. In his wake, crumpled bodies scattered on the tatami, some with missing limbs, others with deep gashes on their vital parts and ending in a pool of blood. And then he was gone, vanished behind the mass of attackers.

 _'Asami will not perish today,'_ Akihito convinced himself. _'Did he not defeat countless rogues and demons aforetime?'_

Akihito's gaze flickered from man to man; since Asami was engaging the men on the right file, he was left with roughly twenty-five opponents from the left. The opponents closest to Akihito confronted him with swords drawn overhead.

 _''Tis an ideal opportunity to ameliorate my_ tō gō setsu _,'_ Akihito surmised.

Standing straight, he assumed the stance of _kesagiri_ —the fifth sword-drawing kata. In one fluid motion, he struck out, slashing his blade across the soldier's torso. Quickly flipping his sword, he reveled in the smooth, familiar feel of the hilt before striking downwards. Blood spurted out in streams, staining the mats a thick red.

The other guards gave Akihito no room for respite; they came thronging from his left and right, blades flashing out and the scrape of metal on metal echoing through the hall. Akihito struck again, painfully aware of the imperfections in his technique, but he possessed no luxury of time to control his movements to a higher standard. Steel and blood ripped the air, screams of pain and frantic war cries lost within the clamor. Again and again his opponents attacked and he retaliated, but more always rushed in to fill the places of the fallen. The novice swordsman could not even measure his strength; the supposedly shallow cut went too deep to miss the opponent's liver.

Akihito watched, pallid-faced, as the soldier before him took a last painful gasp of air and his soul ebbed away. The sword in his hands felt heavier with the first life he took, and suddenly the familiar hilt did not feel comforting at all. He did not wish for this. He intended to incapacitate his opponents with wounds, not to kill them. What would become of this fallen warrior's wife and children? What of his friends who would also grieve for him?

In his daze, Akihito received four cuts: on the chest, upper arm, forearm, and stomach. Seeing blood gushing from their comrade-in-arms' lacquered leather breastplate, the warriors bellowed their defiance and launched themselves forward. Akihito managed to take a step back just before a sharp slice of a gleaming blade flashed before him. He evaded a fatal blow, only to trip over a fallen sheath, jarring him out of his trance. Jaw clenched, he recalled his mentor's words, _'It is an unspoken rule that he who lives by the sword shall die by the sword.'_

There were a hundred enemies against the two of them. It was no battle; it was a slaughter—or meant to be. Would it be their enemies' necks or their own?

Akihito took several gulps of air. These men knew they were risking their lives when they came at him; they were by no means the elderly, women, or children, who were so often helplessly targeted by robbers.

With a new resolve, Akihito charged again. He had not been tested like this aforetime; his daily practice with Asami was all about repetition until his movements became as close as could be to perfection instead of clinging to dear life before his opponent took it. Even when the worst monstrosity of a demon attacked them on the deserted thoroughfares, Asami's sword had never failed to defend him. Ducking beneath a slashing halberd, he disemboweled his challenger and swiftly spun around to slice his next opponent. He paid the price of his own folly with gritted teeth, the pain of his wounds intensifying with every movement.

_'Calm yourself. None of these stabs is so grave as to end your life.'_

Ignoring the bleeding from his wounds, Akihito deflected a raging sword blade whilst evading the attack from behind. As soon as he had stabbed his frontal opponent, he swiveled clockwise and performed _nukitsuke_ by stepping his right foot forward. His sword slammed down, blocked by his remaining opponent's sword. Yet, Akihito's raw talent and tenacity had granted within a mere four months of training a superiority in sword-wielding techniques to a samurai by birth who distanced himself from steel save for the calls of duty. His unwieldy foe howled and jumped back, intending coming right back with a thrust, but was blocked midway. Even so, the young swordsman realized how inept his movements were when compared to his teacher. As Akihito cut down his enemy, deafening cries came from the opposite side of the room.

On the right file, despite the frenzied slashing of blades, Asami fought gallantly—blocking, stabbing, parrying and cutting. Men fell before him, albeit more always leaped in to fill the breach he created. In addition to minor grazes, the veteran swordsman had suffered a noteworthy sword cut to his thigh, blood running from the gash and skin flapping as he lashed out at his attackers.

The split second Akihito spent on sparing a glance at Asami in lieu of the enemies around him cost him another wound, a gash on his right thigh, fresh blood already staining the floor around him. Sharp pain spread through his leg just as a new wave of assailants flung themselves onto him. Akihito barely managed to react, just narrowly avoiding many stabs and slashes of sharp blades. Weapons rose and fell with desperate purpose, edges sharp and deadly. Pain and fatigue washed over him, and his mind became hazy.

' _Why struggle while you can cede the fight? Let the suffering end.'_ The words rang inside his head as he deflected a strike. His thoughts trailed off, and the world went black within the length of a heartbeat. A whirl of uncertainty took shape, carrying with it faint verbal fractions like _'revenge '_ and _'Asami.'_

Then Akihito ceased thinking and simply reacted. Caring no longer for the imperfections each of his movements brought, he pressed on. His hands blurred, his deftly angled wakizashi hitting the enemies' weapons again and again. He struck at whomever came at him with everything he had, sending his foes to the afterlife. The sword in his hands slashed and stabbed, piercing through his attackers without mercy until their heartbeats stopped. Blood, so much blood bloomed as he continued to plow through the howling concourse. He was new in the field of swordfights, yet his mentor had alleged that he was a fast learner. Now he fell too far into the rage, hardly registering the movement as blades flew at him. At the very last instant, he dodged aside, the skin covering his ribs slashed in long cut. Terror reigned. Screams came forth, chanting a clamor of fury and anguish.

Before Akihito could complete his next onset, however, excruciating pain hit him on the left knee, forcing him to keel over. He was faintly aware of the sound of dislocating joints, where a club had crushed his kneecap. (An uncommon choice for a feudal lord's retainer was the weapon, yet by no means unheard of.)

He crawled forward on his elbows, attempting to stand. His unresponsive muscles ached and refused to obey his will. Panic seeped through his pores: he was going to die before he could kill Asami. Always he remembered the smoke billowing above the forest trees, and his dear village turned to ash. Never he forgave and never he forgot.

Even as his fingers fumbled on the tatami, trying desperately to raise himself, Akihito knew there would be no salvation for him. His arms ached from the exertion; not once in the bygone days had he opposed so many an enemy in a single occurrence. On came the snarling assassins with their swords and halberds poking, even scoring hits upon his back. These were the dastards who had waited out of harm's reach while their braver comrades had engaged him when he had been able to stand on his feet. The agony throughout his body intensified as more bruises and cuts becoming more evident the longer he was stretched out below his foes. Nearly swooning from the pain, he grimaced at the thought that his entire insides would be ripped out as one particular blade narrowly missed his shoulder bone. Every muscle in his body snapped taut. He felt the slick blood roll down his back, mingling with other carmine streams in a putrid brook. Then a gruesome conjecture filled his mind: the enemy soldiers would not let him die without sporting on his injuries first.

Amidst the rank of enemies, another guard rose, terrible and tall, over-towering Akihito with armor that glinted menacingly. With a battle cry that stung Akihito's ears like venom, the warrior bent over him like a cloud, his upright halberd poised to kill. Nevertheless, suddenly he stumbled forward with a yelp of bitter pain, and his stroke flashed wide, driving into the ground. Asami's sword had stabbed him from behind, shearing through the cuirass and piercing the man's liver.

A sword snapped across, and another came slashing from the other direction. More enemy blades lashed out at Asami, but the veteran swordsman spun a full circle, sweeping across his front and parrying behind his back with practiced ease, the ensuing flurry of sheer madness keeping his opponents back on their heels. Ten hits … twenty … all sounded like a prolonged squall of ringing steel. Farther and farther away Asami drifted from Akihito once again. The movements of their bodies mingled in the blur of weapons.

Then one warrior, stouter and shorter than the rest, presented himself, only to land his fist on Asami's face when the latter was engaged with six other swordsmen. The assailant's sword remained sheathed, for the man relied on the sheer force of his muscles. Yet what the warrior lacked in stature, he made up for in strength. Bare-handed fight testifying to his efficiency in battle, his blow caught Asami unguarded, sending him reeling and off balance. The vagabond swordsman's nose caved in as his opponent's bulky fist sank into his flesh. There were not many men in this world who had succeeded in making Asami Ryūichi stagger backward with surprise and pain rampant on his visage.

Amidst the bedlam, a lean castle guard with thin moustache sneaked behind Asami. Using a swift underhand motion, the furtive man pitched his sword across the short span between them. It hit Asami in the ribs, penetrating deep. The agonized man's eyes widened and his mouth formed the rictus of his suffering, but no scream tore his throat. Instead, the veteran fighter turned around. Time almost stopped as his eyes met the soldiers, a dark void of death and fury.

Daunted by the rōnin's rapid swerve, the samurai instantly cowered back and whimpered that he regretted his actions. Withal, Asami had separated the knuckles from his stabber's right hand before the man took flight from his sword's grasp. The lean soldier shrieked, but Asami's sword sliced his throat as he attempted to scream a second time. A comrade-in-arms wasted no opportunity. Without hesitation, he let loose a flurry of arrows at Asami until a sharp arrowhead buried into the target's chest.

New cries arose—the triumphant gloat from the far end of the hall—and Akihito was horror-stricken at what he knew was happening: Asami careened on shaky knees, his strength gone and his body no longer responding, while the enemy samurai swarmed over, running their blades through his debilitated form.

Akihito simply looked at his injured companion, face blank, uncomprehending. No hours so dark had Akihito known, not even in the clutches of the mountain bandits; Asami had always been there to protect him. Only at death's threshold did the youth realize that he had grown too fond of Asami to let him go. He had never been apart from Asami heretofore; hence, he never imagined it otherwise. Now that such possibility presented itself, a sudden dread seized Akihito. A life bereft of Asami would be like a sky bereft of its sun; what was the meaning of the morrow without Asami in it?

There was not a drop of blood remaining within Akihito that did not tremble; a shriek had risen and died in his throat before he saw Asami's unmoving body. The slender arrow must have pierced through his heart. But surely it could not have so bechanced—Asami was such an invincible opponent! How could that tough mongrel leave no more vestige of himself on earth than foam upon the water? Akihito stared with wide, disbelieving eyes, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath coming out in short, sharp bursts flaring through his nostrils.

Silence.

An oppressive, seemingly endless silence.

Then, when the din of the clanging metal returned but the fallen did not rise again, Akihito vociferated an inarticulate outcry of rage: in that instant, he cared not whether he lived or died. Struggling to his feet again, he hobbled blindly toward the bowman—the man he presently abhorred regardless of the family who would miss him, regardless of all the good deeds the man had performed in life, regardless of everything.

The spirit of Akihito's vengeance swept about him in a maelstrom of thunderous fury, urging the young swordsman to cut apart those few still standing. He charged headlong to greet them, trampling the fallen bodies and screaming his hatred, vengeful beyond fear and ireful beyond pain. Other warriors sprang forward to hamper him, uttering surprise at how his injured leg allowed such a feat. But he flicked aside their thrusts, lancing his sword through the first opponent's neck, only to withdraw and bury it the second time within the next opponent's stomach. But the pack surged in, a score of sharp blades ripped through the air around him. He did not relent, but threw his opponents in his terror until the guards lay slain about him.

Panting heavily, Akihito surged forward, recognizing the bowman—the vile cur who had struck Asami's chest and had also kept raining Akihito with arrows while he parried his adversaries' onsets, now took up halberd to meet Akihito's sword with reciprocity. Great was the clash of their meeting. More small cuts peppered the young challenger's forearms. Even so, Akihito's wrath burned the hotter, and more skilled was his mastery with the weapon. Before the blade of the halberd lanced through his heart, Akihito sliced the weapon by its pole, just above its owner's grip. He snatched the _bisento_ by what little remained of the shaft and penetrated the blade into his opponent's open mouth, all the way through the back of the man's skull. The warrior shrieked, his muscles going taut with what Akihito most sincerely hoped to be great anguish. Yet his suffering was short-lasting; his body staggered with eyes wide open even in death.

 _''Tis not enow. This_ _whoreson has to suffer more for killing_ _Ryūichi_ _so_ _cowardly.'_ With this thought flaming inside his head, Akihito stabbed his sword into the bowman's body, disregarding that the dead man suffered no more. Repeatedly he punctured the insensate flesh with a burning need to crunch the bones together until that body became nothing more than a lump of meat and leaking blood. Yet with each spurt of blood from the corpse, the wound inside Akihito's heart ran deeper. Hot tears stung his eyes; no matter how hard he tried, Asami would not return.

Another clang, more shouts and swishes from somewhere behind him, and then Akihito understood: his mentor had risen again—the wounds did not suffice to kill Asami. A ray of hope relit his darkened soul. Although every step Akihito took seemed to shred his left leg, the young swordsman sped up as an unbidden voice in his head said: _'not_ _Ryūichi_ _…'_ After he had lost the villagers of Fukuta, _'not_ _Ryūichi_ _too…'_ After Asami had finally rose to his feet again, _'This time, for sure, I shall make sure no one lays his hand on my prey.'_

By the grace of fortune, Akihito's slash hit one of the few remaining soldiers, who stumbled and fell, tripping up the other. Akihito leaped to his feet and limped after his opponent. He flung himself toward a shortcut, attempting to overtake the guard who swung his sword at Asami even with an injured leg and bursting through several guards standing with their weapons pointed at him. Something caught Akihito hard in the small of the back and he fell forward, his face smacking the ground, blood pouring out of both nostrils. He discerned, even as he rolled over, his body singing with throes of agony, that the other guards would not let him reach his destination unimpeded.

Yet, even encumbered with such grave injuries, Asami did not lose his perspicacity. Preserving his composure, he used physical misdirection to accomplish his sleight of hand and struck his adversaries down, showing to all beholders that his swordsmanship was to be feared. The last four soldiers faced him simultaneously. One of them managed to slice Asami's forearm, causing him to drop his sword. In a blink of an eye, howbeit, Asami re-caught the sword by the handle in mid-air. A man to the left of Asami fell, a deep gash on his chest. Then a second guard fell to Asami's sword, before yet another slash downed a third. One pierce of the lung and blood burst forth from the fourth guard's mouth, the thunk of his armor against the ground serving as the knell of his funerary singing bowl.

That was when Akihito saw him—a single man standing alone against his terrible foes, no armor protecting his body, wielding nothing but a sword. Through death, those who opposed him learned that day that this vagabond would not be easily destroyed. Awe washed through Akihito, and he thought to himself then: there was only one whom he would follow; there was only one he would call "partner."

Akihito approached his mentor, shambling from his injured leg. Sucking in a harrowing breath around ribs that felt to have been reduced to needle-sharp splinters, he wheezed out, “Asami…”

"Lad," the older swordsman acknowledged as he resigned himself to a sitting position to ease his pain.

"Hush, I bethink it is best that you focus on breathing instead of speaking for the nonce." Akihito sat with straightened legs and rested Asami's head on his lap, cushioning and holding it up so as to not close up the blood circulation whilst avoiding contact with his dislocated kneecap. His hands went downwards, working out on how to pull the malign arrow from the reclining man's chest.

The blood that spurted from the extracted arrow was less than what Akihito had feared. And there was some odd feeling about Asami's flesh; it was rustling. When Akihito inserted his hand beneath the collar of Asami's attire, he found a poetry book between the layers of Asami's _nagajuban_ and kimono.

"'Twas this that thwarted the arrow from piercing your heart." Akihito gave a hearty laugh; the bond betwixt them had become a chain that melted the blood inside his veins by this point. "You will live."

"And yet, for one who despises me so, your tone voices no ruefulness," Asami rejoined as he stanched one of his other streaming wounds with tatters of his torn raiment.

Akihito straightened his gleeful countenance at once. "I … I just mean that your life is still mine for the taking."

The vibrantly painted fusuma stood open ahead of them, floral fragrance flooding out onto the hall of death. Tentatively, women with elaborate kimono threaded their way inside. Yet none of the castle guards had survived. No heartbeat reached the women's ears. No voice called. No living soul stirred. Bodies lay strewn hither and thither, twisted in death. The hall had turned into a slaughterhouse.

The first two ladies-in-waiting squeaked. Their companion, who seemed to be was the oldest of the four, uttered, "Good grief!" The last one to enter did not scream, but stared horror-stricken at the scattered dead bodies whilst covering her mouth with both hands.

"What commotion is this?" the lady of the house demanded as she stepped in.

The scene before her eyes, her husband's corpse first and foremost, rendered her immobile. The thin line of her mouth was twitching as though she was about to shriek. But what came out of her mouth was a feeble "my lord husband" before she swooned. Her ladies-in-waiting caught her crumpling body and the four of them brought her away.

"Fuyu-hime, you must not proceed inside; 'tis not safe in there!" The warning of one of the ladies was audible from the other side of the _fusuma_.

The door slid open nevertheless, and entered the figure of a younger noblewoman, as stern as she was astute, but with an indication of one lost in thought of things far away even though her eyes gleamed like stars that shone the brighter as the night deepened the moment she cast a sweeping glance across the audience hall.

No sooner had two ladies-in-waiting trailed behind her with hesitant steps than she waved her hand at them in dismissal. The look relief upon their countenances as they left behind her back could not have been any plainer.

The young noblewoman herself stepped forth, passing the lifeless form of a soldier who was slumped against the wall, drying blood crusted on his face, his body severely stabbed. She seated herself on the tatami field of death, on the gap between the corpses of the castle guards, paying no mind that the blood soiled her costly kimono. Thereupon she observed the two man-slayers under her probing gaze.

Asami had burst dozens of veins in his nose and cheeks. His comely visage had swelled with blood, turning his eyes considerably narrow. Blood was still seeping out from the cuts on his chest, arms, and leg. His nose was broken whereas his mouth opened and closed, sucking for air. As for Akihito, as well as the ruptured triceps, several muscles in his back were pulled. His body was peppered with bruises and wounds of varying depth and severity, but none was as grave as his left kneecap, which was hanging loose from the tendons and ﬂoating under the skin.

In spite of the burgeoning specks of fright across her countenance, august was the so-called Fuyu-hime's bearing as she addressed the two wanderers, "Gray hairs are proof of age, but not of wisdom; fineries are proof of riches, but not of manner. The lord of the castle decreed the first strike and his adversaries perforce defended themselves—there was no wrongness in what you did. Some acts cannot be avoided, when stripped of choice."

"How can you be so sure that it was not us who led the daimyo into ruin?" Akihito asked.

Without deigning so much as to look at the lord's corpse a second time, she conferred, "Because you could have declared the battle the moment you delivered with the mantis demon's head yesterday or periled him in his sleep—bereft of sight and knowledge—hence disabling him to call his guards, should you prefer a more clandestine approach. Furthermore, over the course of nineteen years, the daimyo's cantankerous propensity has not been unknown to me."

Once again the fusuma slid open and more castle guards poured in, swords drawn. One of them exhorted, "Protect ohime-sama!"

His fellow soldiers voiced their agreement, yet even their steel determination was drowned by the single command of a woman. "Leave us!"

"But Fuyu-hime, these men could harm you or treat you disrespectfully."

Her reply came in a less imperious, yet more satirical tone, "I am the heiress of this fiefdom; will you defy me and announce treachery in this dark hour of the daimyo's death?"

"My apologies." The soldier retreated with a bow, bringing his comrades along with him.

Turning at Asami and Akihito, the young noblewoman smiled serenely. "Now let us turn thoughts from unfortunate past; we must look toward days to come and embrace them. Transgressions must be placed aside in favor of more pressing concern. As for your trouble, it is only appropriate that your promised reward shall be doubled: sixty ryō will go to your possession, as well as a horse-drawn cart to carry the coffer and your wounded disciple."

Akihito's eyes widened, but Asami replied in a flat tone, "Generous, but unnecessary; we have done nothing to deserve them."

"A matter shortly to be rectified," she cordially intoned, "The additional fee is the price for your silence. Rumor will fly that the lord of the castle and a hundred retainers were assassinated by a group of masked men presumed to be ninja employed by a rivaling feudal lord, but they had managed to escape before more soldiers arrived."

Before he could help himself, Akihito blabbered, "You are not going to order more samurai to strike us down?"

"Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall. To what end do men believe that honor follows loyalty as if it were its shadow? In sooth, revenge results in more grieving widows and bereft children."*

A simper graced Asami's lips. "The demise of two rōnin will serve no purpose in preserving your aristocracy," he remarked. "Had the lord of the castle been killed by another noble, the House of Itsutsuji would gain much sympathy from the imperial court—a greater chance for a female progeny to maintain the deceased daimyo's property than if the murder had been committed by the hands of some common plunderers. The law demands the shogun to find the murderous daimyo for a punishment, but it would also take longer to find a nonexistent person. Even if the truth comes to the light one day, the period the shogun needs to search for the supposed fugitive will afford you enough time to either wed a man of equal status or arrange money and have personal belongings moved to a place of your choosing to ensure that your household shall not be woefully inadequate even if deprived of the shogun's stipend."

The spread of her fan in front of the noblewoman's lower face prevented the two men from inspecting whether she smiled or sneered. "You speak as though the benefit were mine alone, esteemed swordsman." She slowly trailed her fingers through the folds of her fan, emphasizing the presence of the twenty-three folds. "The ancestral House of Itsutsuji is not without allies. Should it become known to others that you killed a daimyo, government officials will hunt you down and no door would welcome you everywhere you go, for pictures of you as felons would decorate every signboard throughout the land."

Asami and Akihito eyed the noblewoman in silence.

She flicked her fan. "Are we agreed?"

###

"Scarcely did my ears believe it when you dispatched a courier to deliver thirty ryō to Akina and gave the dray to the courier for his fee when we can still have some spare coins if we sell it ourselves, but more scarcely still did my eyes believe it when you distributed the other fifteen to random peasants on our way!" Akihito exclaimed as the two of them dismounted the horse at the mouth of a promontory cavern, teeth chattering and breath coming out in tendrils of vapor that anon was fused with the salty scent of the sea. "Our medical fees cost twelve ryō, our wounds permit us no proper work for the nonce, and we still need to survive winter."

"If you are so concerned about pecuniary matters, mayhap I should rise as a magnate in our next life," Asami replied in jest.

They took shelter inside. Asami ambled in front and, after ensuring that the cave was uninhabited, called for his companion. Akihito treaded slowly with the aid of bamboo canes, his left leg heavily bandaged. The younger of them grumbled, "We could have exerted such tremendous funds to find comfortable winter lodging."

Asami, who proceeded to build a fire for them, answered in an untroubled tone, "Carrying such a large amount of gold will only beckon pilferers. Furthermore, those peasants need the financial aid to survive this harsh winter."

"Are you saying that we do not?" Akihito peered sharply at Asami as he put aside a handful of firewood for later use.

"Not as direly as they do; after all, no women and children are with us."

"Has it ever occurred to you that travelers like us, rather than those peasants, are whom bandits are inclined to choose? What if the felons come in a great number and even have bowmen in their midst, just as…" Akihito's voice trailed off.

Asami spoke thus, "That bowman in the castle is an exception. Nine years ago, I was waylaid by a band of rogues in Awaji. As I beheaded the fifth man, I heard a piteous cry from behind the shrubbery. I challenged this hiding coward, but he dropped his sickle and wet his hakama instead, imploring that I would not bestow upon him the same doom I had just given his brother. Since 'tis not my principle to slay the weaponless, I let him live."

"Are you saying that he then betook himself to be employed in the House of Itsutsuji as a bowman and that he dragged many others into his personal retribution against you? After all, it was he who provoked his fellow soldiers in the name justice the first time after you jugulated the daimyo." Akihito shook his head in disbelief.

"That gadfly has grown a beard over the years, but I still recognize his physiognomy and the scar on his forearm." Asami added with a smirk, "Now I cast my worry aside, since a dependable disciple shall risk his life to my succor, should such unwanted circumstances befall. As for the winter, we can always warm each other's body." Therewith, Asami leaped and, before Akihito could evade him, enclosed his arms around the youth.

Akihito struggled to push him away. "Unhand me and attend to the fire!"

These Asami did, but only after he had pecked the side of Akihito's neck.

Gripping a dry twig harder than he meant to, Akihito inquired, "And why do you care so much for my sister in any case?"

"Why should I not? It is a common practice to prepare a dowry for the family of one's wife."

"Wife?!" Akihito promptly drop one of his crutches to draw his bamboo sword, deciding that the curl of satisfaction on Asami's lips had more to do with his teasing than the accomplishment of bringing the fire to life. Through gritted teeth, he challenged, "Face me, Asami!"

"Have our meditation and hand-to-hand spar this morn been not enow for you?" As insouciant as Asami's retort could sound, his withheld breath gave way to his unavowed worry for further strain Akihito was going to encroach on his wounded leg.

Asami tackled the shin of Akihito's uninjured leg and, at the same time, coiled his sheathed sword behind the young man's knee. Then he caught a hold of the seething man's collapsing body with his free hand before it hit the ground.

"Touch me not with the same hand that touched those wenches at the banquet!"

"Ah, my jealous kitten, who slipped away during the banquet night, has returned unto me."

"I am surprised to hear that those salacious eyes of yours could notice me departing, for they were glued to the two girls."

With a chuckle, Asami replied, "Did you begrudge those entertainers?"

"Wh-why would I?"

"Because you removed yourself from their presence with a blazing ire in your eyes and an adorable pout on your mouth."

"Untrue!"

"Their musical performance captured my attention, for some tunes they sung were verily the same songs my mother used to choose for lulling me to sleep in my childhood. As for their flesh, your body should know better that no longer can women whet my appetite."

Akihito clenched his fists. Looking away did not free him from the heat of Asami's lingering stare upon his nape.

"Akihito," Asami called again, "Have you fallen for me?"

Although Akihito's cheeks, emblazoned in vermillion, bled into a deeper hue of cinnabar, his eyes riveted to Asami's. Asami Ryūichi was his friend, his foe, his mentor, his master, his brother, and the man with whom he wished to spend the rest of his life. The very man's gaze was heavy with satiety and possessiveness which tore and mended him at the same time.

"Yes," the simple confession faintly rolled off Akihito's tongue. There was no use denying it, not when he had arrived to a point where he had to pause if he was asked to choose between animosity and solitude. Inasmuch as venom of vengeance might be dripping from his pores, Akihito had the strangest hunch that if Asami ever left, that man would take away everything real in his life, for the erstwhile lifetime prior to their encounter had faded away.

Asami did not let Akihito's heart resume its normal cadence. He tilted the youth's chin and brought, for once, that unprotesting mouth to meet his own, claiming it in a long lingering kiss.

"Haa…" Akihito panted, a string of saliva still connecting his mouth to Asami's. "Where are you touching me?!"

"Only eleven days have elapsed since we left the castle; our bodies have not recovered from the wounds. Hey, is that a _tsūwakin_ jar you are holding?!"

"Asami, I said … mmpf~"

OWARI

**Author's Note:**

> * “Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall” is quoted from Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure Act II, Scene I.


End file.
